


POV

by BrokenKestral



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Journey, Seven Lords, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 10:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30037608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: The tale of the seven lords, as they fall away one by one. Written for the Adventures in Narnia prompt: POV - Tell a story that could be either of two characters’ perspective, without telling us which perspective is being used.
Kudos: 3





	POV

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Considering I don’t even have an idea for this yet, do you really think I own anything? (7 hours later.)  
> Okay. I have one now.  
> … Let’s see if I can make this work.   
>  (Still isn’t mine.)

_Seven lords set out to sea._

We watched the shores of Narnia recede. 

The woods grew smaller and smaller, till the trees blended into a forest. The forest became the horizon’s line. All seven of us stayed on the side of the ship. We looked back. We did not move. We were Telmarines, we were men—but all of us guessed, in our hearts, that we would not be returning.

Narnia was lost to us.

Narnia was lost to us, for we had lost our King. Our friend, our leader, fearless on land, laughing in hardship, so fierce against our foes—our King lay in his grave. Never again to laugh, to lead, never to live. This was the closest we could come to following to where he led now.

We would not return while _Miraz_ ruled.

May his name be a curse forever. If I could _prove_ he put my King in the ground—

But I could not. Too many of us were gone, and now even Narnia was fading in the distance. My friend on one side released his breath when Narnia vanished completely. 

_Seven lords set out to sea_.

* * *

_Six lords sailed onward._

Our King did not have favorites. He went to one of us for war, one of us for planning, the first again for hunting, a third for feasting, a fourth to fence with swords. He was the land and we his stars, revolving in the sky around him.* We knew our dance and loved our part. 

One of us he went to for compassion, for wisdom, for the pure friendship as strong as love. That friend, some might argue, lost the most. Yet it was that friend who still looked forward.

For I found on the ship I was wrong. Some of us thought we _would_ return to Narnia.

“We find the means to raise an army! The young son - he’ll be the next King Caspian! But he’ll need an army!”

There, the fighter. The hunter. The warrior among men. 

“Narnia could be ours again!”

The one I called the dreamer. I do not know what my King saw in him. He was my friend because we both had the same goal, the same love, the same loyalty. But I did not understand him. 

“Narnia is lost. It cannot be regained unless the entire court is replaced. Can you find the men to do that? Men enough to leave their homes, not for the promise of gold and power, but for the sake of a baby prince in a land not their own? No, my lords, that is madness.”

The friend. The friend who lost the most, and seemed to lose hope now. 

I stood with him. “I agree. There is nothing more we can do for Narnia, not with King and friends dead.

“But it’s our _home_.”

The fencer.

“All we value is there.”

That—I liked not this lord. At times he reminded me of Miraz, eyes alight with greed. Yet my own King had worn that look in his worst moments, and so I tolerated this friend. He made sure Miraz took no thing of value from our King. 

“We cannot return _now_ , whatever you desire,” the friend pointed out, after a pause. “On to the Lone Islands we sail.” 

Sail, and sail, and then arrive.

I found Miraz could have ruled the Lone Islands comfortably. They lived like they had never known the kindness of a good king. I grew sick to my soul of the slavery, the greed, the trudging and trudging of men on sand and street, churning both till that remained was dirt. 

I stayed on the ship after seeing a man beat his daughter and no one lifted a hand to help. There was no remnant of my King or my land here.

Yet the friend could find sparkling stones in an island of dirt, and find one he did. 

Perhaps he thought he found a purpose. There was no Miraz here to censor him. He used all his valuables to buy a house, a land, servants, and slaves who became servants. He married a girl of the island, settled down, and began making his own Narnia.

I visited, after that, every few days. I watched as the friend who lost so much found a home by making one. 

We stayed long enough to fight off every threat to his new Narnia. When we had duelled all those who would have robbed him, and trounced the governor’s men when they came to take everything, going to the palace and warning the governor we had trained Lord Bern’s men, but that Lord Bern was far too kind to let the streets run with his blood. _As long_ as the governor didn’t _start_ the war. 

We had learned something, dealing with Miraz.

We stayed till we were sure our friend was safe. Then we left.

_Six lords sailed onwards_. 

* * *

_Five lords left the island._

I missed my friend. My friend, not just the King’s. I wished him well, and wished nearly as strongly his calm and sense stayed with us. 

Long days and nights we sailed. Storms came upon us, and left, and came again. The duty we had done before leaving—checking every cask for maximum strength and no sabotage, and making sure each spare inch was stored with food—stood us in good stead, for we were driven by the storm to far beyond our means. When we first sighted land, we rushed to the rail once again. Six of us—all six of us had survived, and around us the men we had come to know well. The men we led as our King once led us. 

There was a bay where we could weigh anchor. We all went ashore but a few men, stumbling on the stable shore, grasping the green, living leaves, and looking around in wonder. I breathed the air, the taste of it slightly different. And I laughed, for this island had mountains—I could walk beyond the length of the deck, if I wished!

But first we turned to food, water, and wood. The warrior took the dreamer and the treasure-keeper, and the three went to hunt. They went warily, with all the skill the warrior possessed and could pass on. 

They found nothing but animals for meat, streams, and plants. We laughed, and roared, and set a watch before sleeping beneath the trees that night.

Three days we did this. Hunters went and brought back stores, which we jointed and smoked and stored. Others went with buckets to the stream and brought back so much water our bellies were full of it, and we washed our salt-crusted clothing and laughed again. We cut down trees, and those with the skill made repairs.

We were the rulers of this island, and though it had no army to help conquer Narnia, we believed we had conquered it.

Fools we! For we did not know what slumbered in the depth of the island. Not till our treasure-keeper, hunting for anything of value, stumbled on its lair. 

_Then_ we heard it roar as it woke. I do not know if the Lord Octesian, tempted, tried to take some of its hoard, or if he had learned to value food and water above gold and was merely looking for more, but somehow, someway, he roused the slumbering legend to wrath. Men came running back to the beach, screaming in fear. We huddled round the boats till the warrior yelled at us, telling us to be men! The five of us ringed the boats, swords out and looking for danger. The dreamer, voice sharp, ordered men back to the boat, six at a time, appointing rowers to _come back_ and pick up the others. I added an order for them to have the boat ready to sail, still looking to the forest, not knowing what could come out of it.

Not knowing where my friend was. For Lord Octesian had not come back to join us on the beach. 

We waited, swords out, breath short but even. We watched the trees with wary eyes, keeping the line as the group behind us shrank. Boatload after boatload went back to the ship, and still our friend did not come. 

I could see the hesitancy in the warrior’s eyes—in my friend. His face, torn between protecting those we led, and _finding our friend_. He did not need to say it for me to see it. I knew them all so well now.

“Wait till the men are gone. Then we go,” I offered, voice low, and his eyes hardened. 

He did not take guidance well at any time; only our King had ever tamed him. But he saw the sense in what I said, and nodded.

One more load, and we had but three men behind us. So close, so close to finding our friend. I let my eyes roam the trees once more, watching the shadows. _Something_ had happened, if Lord Octesian had not returned by now. But I could not stop peering into the trees, watching for him.

I remained so intent on the trees, I forgot the skies. It was the dreamer who saw it first, who let out a piercing yell of “Up! Up! Look up!” I looked up, I saw it, the cruel and curving wings, the long neck, the body larger than our mast. I froze, afraid; what could swords do against such a thing?

“Retreat! Retreat to the boat!” the warrior yelled, and that broke my fear. We rushed back into the water, heading for the boat that had been coming towards us, ready to swim if we needed to.

The dragon swooped low, just overhead—we ducked—it dropped something with a splash, and flew away, satisfied with our retreat. 

I watched what it dropped bob by on the waves. My stomach lurched. I leaned to the side and threw up. A hand was instantly on my arm, holding me; another joined it a moment later.

“Did it get you? Are you hurt?”

I shook my head and pointed. 

My friends—all four, clustered around me—looked, and saw what I saw, the proof that Octesian was dead. We had no more friend to rescue. 

We went back to the ship and lifted anchor. 

_Five lords left the island._

* * *

_Four lords refused the dream._

“It was a dragon.”

The stunned voice of the dreamer. I did not look away from gazing at the sea. _At each stop, I lose a friend. My King, my country, my friends_ — _how much more can I lose?_

“Dragons are _real_.” Hands clenched the side of the deck beside me. 

“They are,” I agreed hoarsely. I could not forget seeing—the proof that my friend was dead.

“Imagine what such a creature could do to Miraz, if we had one!”

I thought of it—the cruel claws rending the Usurper, the fire burning his flatterers. It was a satisfying image. Still… “I doubt such creatures give allegiance to anything but gold and jewels. Nor could we have brought it to Narnia without it destroying us.”

“But—it was _real_.” That did not seem to require a response. “I wonder if other things are real.” 

I would not trade the dreamer for any other friend, now. I cared for each too much, living with them as close as soldiers on a campaign in a tiny valley.

I still did not understand him.

“It’s likely.” I shrugged. “The world is deeper and broader than we will ever see.”

“Ship ahoy!” the cry broke into our conversation, and the warrior, the fencer, and the last came rushing onto the deck, buckling on their swords as they came. The fencer handed the dreamer his, and the last lord gave me mine. We stood, waiting.

“Not a pirate, by the look of her!” came the cry. We did not relax. It was wise to be wary in these waters.

Yet for all that, she was not a pirate, nor did she mean us harm. We hailed her, warning her captain of the dragon on the island behind us, and they in turn offered us the tale of their voyage. 

They were seeking an island where dreams came true. Any dream, they said, their eyes lit with wonder.

My heart wrenched in my chest. When was the last time I had felt that wonder?

I did not know if I was too wise or too foolish to feel it now. 

But there was one in our number whose heart had been caught by their tale. Almost, almost, the dreamer went with them. But the warrior, eyes flashing in anger, reminded the dreamer of our purpose, that we _must_ either find an army or come back with a large enough adventure we could stand against Miraz by the true tale of our deeds alone. 

“I do not give up on Narnia! A land where dreams come true—do you not understand what that means? King Caspian alive! Narnia restored! Our friends healed, free, our wounds of the heart as if they had never been! Tell me that is not a greater dream!”

No, I would never understand the dreamer. Even when I dared to dream, I knew no dreams like that were given without a cost of heart and perseverance, and possibly blood. 

But he was my friend, and so I took him under my arm, when he grew worn out with arguing (or, as I discovered later, after feeling the effects of the wine the last lord plied him with), and took him below. I wrapped him in his blanket, took of his boots, and put him in bed, fighting a bit under the weight of him. He _did_ dream, but he also worked, on swordsmanship and all other things that could lead to his dream. 

While he slept, we bid our goodbyes to the other ship and watched it sail away. When he woke the next morning, we found to our sorrow that he had not forgotten the dream the rest of us counted foolishness. 

From that moment, I found a new loss. I found I could lose a friend while he stood right next to me.

How much more of this could my soul take?

_Four lords refused the dream_. 

* * *

_Three lords remained to carry on the quest._

Another island. _And another, and another, and another_ , I thought bitterly. _I am tired._

Perhaps it was the land itself, the lonely-looking country which sloped up to a rocky summit.**

“All ashore,” called the warrior wearily. He, at least, wanted land under his legs for a bit. ‘Twas easier to wield a sword that way. And more room to practice.

Still, I went ashore. Something about the island called to my soul. Perhaps it was the loneliness. Perhaps the way nothing about us seemed to touch it. I wanted to see more.

“Come exploring with me,” I asked of the dreamer. Perhaps some time together would mend our broken bond. But he shook his head. 

“It’s too hot.”

I shrugged. Hot or not, I was restless. I buckled on my sword—Octesian made us wary. We never forgot him. 

“Stay within sight!” the fencer called as I headed for the hill. 

“I will if I see danger!” I called back. And I began to climb.

The dreamer had spoken truly. On the way up sweat trickled under my sleeves and down my back, despite the chilling wind. When I reached the top, panting, I looked around.

It was a small island. There was nothing that lived here but the grass and heather, not man nor beast. I looked back to the beach. I could go back—I could see my friends, and the dreamer. I could see the crew scurrying around and loading the water barrels. Yet… 

I was not ready to go back yet. To take up the burden of loss and living. The _quiet_ of the place reached to my soul, and I wanted more of it. I began following the other stream.

Oh, the place it led me. A cradled, quiet place, a small, deep lake in the midst of cliffs. The wind did not reach it, and the entire place was still.

I had never been in a place so peaceful. I would have to bring Rhoop here, to see if the quiet could soothe his dreaming soul. 

But I was still hot, and I shed sword, helmet, and dagger. I looked around at the empty place, and shed clothes as well. I walked to the edge of the mountain pool and dived in.

_Three lords remained to carry on the quest._

* * *

*Remember Narnia is flat, and as far as I understand it, the stars revolve around it rather than a globe orbiting a sun.  
**Taken from VODT  
***As a cheat sheet for those who would like it:

The warrior = Lord Mavramorn

The friend = Lord Bern

The dreamer = Lord Rhoop 

The treasure-seeker = Lord Octesian

The fencer = Lord Revilian

The last lord = Lord Argoz

And the narrator would be Lord Restimar. 

I’m not sure this worked, but hopefully I at least had you guessing as to who it was for the first bit! Without being too confusing? I am curious, though—how soon did you guess who it was?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I may have left out some of the islands. I think I remember them landing on one with an old fire in it, and not much else happens. But I had to write this in the two hours before evening church, so it’s not as thorough as it should be. 


End file.
